


Blood From A Stone

by meoqie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Desert Keith Week 2018, Gen, Minor Original Character(s), One chapter per day, Pre-Canon, Some sheith if you squint, Stripper Keith (Voltron), Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15145988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meoqie/pseuds/meoqie
Summary: During his year alone in the desert, Keith ponders life, death, what it means to have a purpose, and how swiftly things can change without warning. He also encounters birds, bugs, and bewildered 7-11 employees.It's a time of flux, suspension, and adjustment. He reflects on what defines him, and what is just peripheral.One chapter for each day of Desert Keith Week 2018





	1. Provisions

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter takes place in the same setting, focusing on each day's individual prompt. Not necessarily linear.

This wasn’t where Keith imagined he’d be at eighteen.

Actually, no, this was almost _exactly_ where he’d imagined he’d be at eighteen, before the trajectory of his life took an abrupt upward curve, allowing him to briefly rearrange his vision for the future.

‘This’ was a dimly-lit 7-11 a little past two in the morning, barefoot, debating between flavors of beef jerky while his stomach threatened to claw its way through his skin to consume the sustenance directly. The plain kind was cheaper, but he really preferred the teriyaki flavor.

It was definitely more in line with younger Keith’s idea of what life would be like after he aged out of the system. The platform heels shoved into his backpack weren’t necessarily part of the plan, but the struggle to budget $1.23 more for better beef jerky definitely was. His stomach growled. He grabbed the teriyaki. He’d worry about it when he wasn’t nearly faint with hunger.

The clerk at the counter was new, not yet accustomed to Keith as a familiar late-night fixture. She raised her eyebrows at the glitter smeared across his sunburned skin. Keith ignored it, fishing his wallet out of his jacket pocket and carefully counting out exact change. His wallet was primarily full of singles. The clerk could put the pieces together herself.

“Have a good nig- morning?” the clerk said, stumbling over her words.

“Thanks, you too.” He was already ripping open the bag, shoving jerky into his mouth as he walked out of the door.

Maybe this week he’d have time to do some actual grocery shopping, instead of subsisting off whatever provisions the twenty-four hour convenience store could provide him. Canned vegetables would carry him a lot longer than chips and protein bars. Although that still didn’t solve the problem of being absolutely starving whenever he finished a shift at the club. Keith was pretty sure he burned more calories in an hour at Supernova than he did during those stupid Garrison ‘endurance exercises.’

The fact that making money cost him money was absolute bullshit, but life was like that. It cost more money to be poor, to not have the money to stock up on things when they were cheap because he only had so much in his pocket to carry him from one week to the next.

Committing several levels of tax fraud made things easier, of course. He didn’t get a paycheck from Supernova, just what he could collect in cash tips. The desert shack was all that was left of his childhood home, and as far as anyone knew, it was empty and abandoned. It would probably catch up to him someday and he’d be completely fucked, but that was problem for the future. For now he was focused on earning enough money to keep himself fed, fuel in his hoverbike and the power generator for the shack, and… equipment for his half-crazed search through the desert.

The last one wasn’t exactly a necessity, and was the first thing that he cut out of his budget if he’d had a particularly dry week, but as crazy as the self-imposed mission sounded, it was actually the one thing keeping him sane.

Without that, he’d probably just let himself die in the desert.

He tried not to contemplate death while munching on beef jerky, picking his barefoot way across rough asphalt to where he’d parked his bike, but his mind wandered there anyway. Keith thought about death a lot, these days.

It was late, and the trip back to the shack was relatively lengthy, but he didn’t hop on the bike right away despite that. He leaned against the metal side, cool without the desert sun to turn it into a sizzling hazard. Finishing off the bag of jerky, he stared up at the stars.

The sky was basically a giant graveyard of dead stars, the visible light reaching earth’s atmosphere long after the source had burned out. Ghosts, afterimages. Constellations were essentially memorials.

Keith cleared his throat, scrubbing one hand across his face. It came away wet and smeared with glitter. He wiped it off on his loose sweatpants before pulling on his gloves. It was time to go home. 


	2. Wildlife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Wildlife

Keith laid on the rough stone floor of the canyon, staring at the sliver of sky he could see from his prone position. This was it. This was how he died. Would anyone even come find his body? He imagined what his bleached bones would look like, tumbled in a heap surrounded by rocks and scrubby plants. It would be better to disintegrate to bones than to be found as a rotting corpse, he thought. Wildlife would pick at his flesh, usually the soft and squishiest parts first, and the heat would bloat and bruise his skin. Not the best way to go out. Keith didn’t really consider himself to be an especially vain individual, but working at Supernova had made him a bit more aware of his own attractiveness. Enough to care about what his corpse would look like, anyway. Dignity in death or something.

Realistically, he knew he wasn’t necessarily going to die. It was a twisted ankle, not a devastating injury. But in his fall, the bag that contained all of his vital supplies - food, water, the keys to his hoverbike - slipped off his shoulder and caught on a ledge that was now about ten feet above the ground. Ten feet that were completely unclimbable with a twisted ankle. So yeah, he was going to die.

He tried to look at the positives of the situation. Being dead wouldn’t cost him any money, so that was a plus. It would be massively inconvenient for any law enforcement involved in the investigation of his disappearance, another victory. Perhaps the Garrison would even be blamed, kicking out such a young and vulnerable individual to waste away in the desert wilderness. Poor orphan Keith, he had absolutely no one to look after him, and the big mean government sentenced him to a life on the streets all because of a minor matter of decking a man so hard he permanently lost vision in one eye. Pretty much anyone would agree that Iverson totally deserved anything that was coming to him after about five minutes in his presence.

He sighed, watching a few clouds drift by. Absently, his mind turned to the possibility of an afterlife. He hadn’t been raised to believe in any deity or cosmic reward system, although a few of the foster families he’d been briefly placed with had been religious. Heaven was always depicted as being constructed of fluffy white clouds, with everyone wearing white robes and surrounded by holy light. The idea of someone like him going to a heaven that looked like that was laughable. He imagined himself showing up at the pearly gates in his six inch heels and black leather booty shorts. God would take one look at him and send him straight to hell.

It was ridiculous, but as Keith found himself staring down the concept of eternal nothingness, he realized he wanted there to be something more. A chance to keep existing, to be with the people he’d lost. His dad. Shiro. His mom? He’d never found out if she was dead or if she’d just… left. His dad never wanted to talk about her. Now that he was older, he understood that it must have been painful for him, but it didn’t make it any less unfair that he knew absolutely nothing about the woman who birthed him.

A shadow briefly blotted out the sun illuminating the canyon, and Keith squinted up to see a buzzard slowly descending towards him.

“Fuck off, I’m not dead yet!” he shouted.

The buzzard alighted on the ledge containing his bag with a trill.

“Are you just gonna sit and wait?” Keith complained, finding a nearby rock to toss at the bird.

The bird ruffled its feathers but was otherwise unaffected by the projectile.

This wasn’t morbid at all, being stared down by a scavenger while anticipating death.

The buzzard hopped closer to Keith’s bag, tilting its head before grabbing hold of it with its beak. Three sharp tugs, and the bag tumbled off the edge, landing solidly within Keith’s reach. The buzzard shook out its wings, and then took flight.

Keith blinked, trying to process what just happened. There was no way the buzzard could have known that the bag would save his life… right? It was just a dumb bird. But why else would it show up just to push the bag off the ledge?

He sat up, grabbing the bag. He had a small first-aid kit, he could wrap his ankle and make the walk back to his bike. It would be hell, but he’d survive. The injury meant he’d be out of commission for a while at Supernova, which sucked. Unless he could convince Danielle to let him help out behind the bar instead. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to because he wasn’t twenty-one, but Danielle might make an exception because she liked him. It was kind of dumb, he was allowed to take off his clothes on stage for people to ogle his body, but he couldn’t handle alcoholic beverages.

The cry of a buzzard pierced the air, and Keith watched it sail over the canyon one last time before disappearing.

He wasn’t religious, he didn’t know if there was an afterlife, but maybe, just maybe, there were angels. Maybe something up there… or someone… was looking out for him. 


	3. Climate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic somehow became 'Keith suffering in various ways.' I blame the heatwave I'm actually experiencing rn.

Hell was real and Keith was ass deep in it.

He’d known the prehistoric air conditioning unit was on its last legs for a while, but he’d been hoping - praying? - it would hold out a little longer, at least until cooler weather arrived. No such luck. It sputtered out one last gasping breath before leaving Keith at the mercy of the desert heat in the height of the hottest time of the year. Proof that there was not a single thing in this damn world he could count on.

There was nothing to be done for it; he’d have to dip into his emergency cash fund. Stashed under a loose floorboard, it was every penny he could afford to do without in the event that he ever had to skip town and start over somewhere else. He’d probably have to use up all of it, but at least he wouldn’t be risking heatstroke in his own house.

Keith peeled himself off the relatively cooler cement floor, swaying a little as his vision swam. Water. He should drink some water. The idea of putting on his jacket so he could ride into town was abominable, but at least he’d be getting a breeze then. The air in the shack was still and stifling. Keith felt sweat trickle down his back and forehead. His shirt was drenched. Maybe before anything else he’d lower his internal temperature with a cold shower.

Cool water against his skin was like ambrosia from heaven, and he groaned in pleasure. He leaned against the battered tile, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. He wasn’t built for this climate. Maybe he should forget the air conditioning and just take the money to escape to somewhere the air didn’t feel like Satan’s asshole, like Montana. Or Alaska.

Keith stretched his arms over his head, arching his back. Several joints cracked, and he sighed. It was thankfully Friday, if he really worked his ass off this weekend he could replenish some of the emergency fund. His eyes still closed, he swayed his hips, envisioning the stage at Supernova. Truth to be told, he wasn’t very good at his job. He relied more on his natural athleticism and attractiveness than any charismatic sex appeal. It worked well enough, but if he put a little more effort in, he’d probably be a lot more popular with the customers.

There was something appealing about the idea of the straightlaced Garrison officers emptying their wallets for _him_.

Supernova was the Garrison’s worst kept secret. It wasn’t forbidden, of course. They couldn’t dictate what officers or even the students did in their downtime. But it was very frowned upon. That didn’t stop anyone, though. The town surrounding the Garrison facility wasn’t very big. Supernova had about thirty dancers of various genders. They all made enough money to live on. Anyone could do the math. Everyone just pretended not to see each other as they stuffed singles into the fronts of the dancers’ costumes.

He finally turned off the water, not wanting to drain his well on top of the defunct air conditioning. One personal disaster at a time was about all he could handle with his current emotional instability.

The air shimmered with the heat as Keith took off across the desert on the hover bike. Sandy dunes and craggy cliffs rippled and warped like they were underneath ocean waves. At least, that’s what Keith imagined the ocean would be like. He’d never actually seen it in person.

Shiro had told him they’d visit, once he graduated.

_“We’ll take a week, visit the California beaches. Nothing but sun and sand and saltwater.”_

Just another thing that would never happen. Keith collected all the little what-ifs in a corner of his heart, like a memory box for imaginary scenarios. It hurt to open but hurt even more to ignore.

Grieving never got any easier, no matter how many times he experienced loss. Sometimes he almost liked the pain - it told him that what he’d felt had been real. There’d been no body to bury, no headstone he could visit like he could with his father. All that was left was the ache and the memories.

“I’m gonna see the ocean someday, Shiro,” Keith murmured, the words immediately stolen by the wind whipping around him as he pushed the bike to its top speed. “No matter what it takes.” 


	4. Scouting

Keith wasn’t surprised that the Garrison threw him out on his ass. He wasn’t even sorry about it, not really. He didn’t want to be associated with a place that spread such blatant lies about the greatest pilot the establishment had ever produced. The only regret was that Shiro would have been disappointed in him, but, well, Shiro wasn’t there to see it. Shiro wasn’t there to see anything, anymore.

Grief clawed its way up Keith’s throat yet again and he had to choke it down like bitter medicine. Not the time or the place.

He was standing outside the Garrison gates, most of his earthly possessions shoved into a bag on his back. The only other thing he owned was the bike between his legs. No home. No family. Not a whole lot of money. Back to square one.

When he first got accepted into the Garrison, he’d been convinced it wouldn’t last. Nothing good ever did, for him. Gradually, though, he’d accepted that maybe this was a sure thing. Again and again, Shiro stepped in on his behalf whenever trouble followed him around like a bad penny.

 

_“I know what you’re doing, Keith. You’re sabotaging yourself because you feel like you don’t deserve to be here. But I just can’t accept that. This is where you belong.”_

_“How many times are you going to stand up for me?”_

_“As many times as it takes.”_

 

Apparently without Shiro to be his bulwark, he just couldn’t take it. Keith fought back the prickle of tears again and revved the bike.

He glanced over his shoulder at the place that had been his home for the past four years and gave it a parting gesture of extending his middle finger. He wasted four years of his life busting his ass and dealing with intolerable teachers at a place that was unwilling to shoulder even an ounce of responsibility for losing three lives to the void of space.

Now he just had to figure out what the hell he was going to do now that he was broke and homeless with absolutely no job prospects.

Finding a place to crash was his first priority. He definitely didn’t have enough money even for the cheapest motel in town, and he didn’t have any friends that would let him couch-surf. The only place he could think of was what remained of his childhood home, if there was anything even left. Problem was, he didn’t exactly know where it was. He’d been eight the last time he’d seen it. He had a vague idea, but not enough to confidently head out into the desert without any kind of plan or a map.

Map. A map would help. The library in town had public computers, he could access satellite images and pinpoint the precise location. No wandering aimlessly in the desert required. Keith turned his bike toward the town, wind whipping his hair into a tangled mess and covering his clothes in a light layer of dust.

He brushed himself off the best he could before entering the small building. It was much quieter and far more empty than the massive Garrison library, which he was grateful for. He wasn’t in the mood for human interaction. The computers were practically ancient compared to the slick Garrison tablets, but he wasn’t about to complain when they were his only hope for scouting out shelter before nightfall.

Clicking through mile after mile of almost identical desert grew boring quickly, and Keith’s eyelids drooped as time went on. His stomach growled, and he fished a protein bar out of his backpack. Food wasn’t allowed in the library, but there was nobody around to yell at him. He was careful to not get crumbs on the keyboard, though.

Finally after what seemed like hours, Keith’s attention snagged on a shape too uniform to be anything other than man-made. He zoomed in, and the familiar layout of the desert shack with its ramshackle fence and scrubby collection of trees came into focus. He almost shouted with triumph, but remembered just in time that he was in a library.

He didn’t know what shape the shack would be in after so many years left empty, but it was a start. He’d figure the rest out as he went along. 


	5. Rest

Keith groaned in relief as he took off his heels in the stuffy back room of Supernova. His ears were still throbbing with the ghost of a bass beat, but the club was blissfully silent. It had been a long shift. But the wad of cash he shoved into his bag was worth all the aches and bruises that came with a physically demanding occupation.

“Ow,” he muttered absently, examining a scrape on his knee from sliding across the stage a little too enthusiastically.

“You should clean that,” Dakota commented as they stripped out of their costume beside him. “God only knows what kind of freaky infection you could get from those sweaty-palmed military motherfuckers.”

Keith laughed. “Hey, I used to be one of those sweaty-palmed military motherfuckers. I still would be, if they hadn’t kicked me out. But you’re probably right.”

He swiped at his knee with an alcohol swab, hissing softly at the burn.

“Do you miss it?” Dakota asked.

“Sometimes,” Keith admitted. “When I look up at the stars and think about how I could have been up there. But most of the time I just think about everything the Garrison took away from me, and I don’t miss it at all.”

Dakota hummed in acknowledgement, swapping their spangled shorts for a pair of loose sweats. “Do you wanna go out and get breakfast with us at the diner?”

Keith shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m exhausted and have a long ride home. I’m just gonna head out and get some rest.”

“Be safe,” they called after him as he shouldered his bag to leave.

He offered them a casual two-fingered salute in parting, walking backwards out the door.

The air outside was still and lifeless, cool against his skin with the sun long gone. Stashing his bag below the seat, Keith hopped on the hoverbike and started his long trek home.

The desert at night never stopped feeling like a different world than how it was during the day. Daytime desert was the surface of Mars, unearthly but still familiar with its craggy red rocks and shimmering sand. After dark it became an alien landscape of purple and navy, cactuses pitch-black silhouetted against the starry sky. It was sometimes a little bit spooky, just how empty it was. But other times, like now, it was simply peaceful, allowing Keith to breathe easy without any eyes or expectations on him.

He wondered if that’s why his father built a home so far out in the middle of nowhere. What was it he was trying to escape from?  
It was close to four in the morning when he finally climbed the creaking wooden steps to the shack, dumping his bag in what served as his bedroom before stripping down to his underwear. He was bone-weary but the pain in his feet warned him that if he didn’t do something about it tonight, work the following evening was going to be on a whole ‘nother level of hell.

The outdated fluorescent light hummed to life as Keith plugged the sink to fill in with water. What he actually craved was a bath, but the utilitarian bathroom only had a narrow shower stall. Soaking his feet would have to do.

Keith sighed as he lowered his feet into the sink, enduring the sting of hot water in his blisters for the sake of his aching muscles. Perched on the bathroom counter, he absently watched a moth flutter around the bare fluorescent bulb. This far out in the desert it was always quiet, but at four in the morning it felt especially silent. A narrow window opened to the cool night air let in an atypical breeze, temporarily knocking the moth off his single-minded suicide mission. Keith felt a little like he’d missed the memo on the apocalypse, and he was the only human left alive. The moth collided with the bulb so solidly it made an audible noise. Keith braced one hand on the wall and reached across the room to flip the switch. He sat in darkness, willing the moth to seek the freedom of the open window instead. It wasn’t the moths fault that its biology was incompatible with human needs for warmth and light.

The water gradually cooled, and Keith shook himself from his light doze to pull the plug and dry off with a threadbare towel. Navigating his small living space in the dark was second nature, and he collapsed into bed just as the sun was beginning to lighten the edge of the sky. He fell into a dreamless sleep long before the sun actually rose. 


	6. Horizon

Keith felt his abdominals burn with effort as he leaned back and extended one leg away from the pole he was clinging to, furrowing his brow as he forced himself to point his toes.

“Nice, Keith!” Danielle called from the other side of the room.

It broke his concentration and he immediately dropped the pose, lowering himself to the ground with a grunt.

“Well, it was,” Danielle said apologetically.

It was a far cry from what he’d been able to manage when he first started working at Supernova. Foolishly, he’d thought that his athletic abilities gained in the Garrison would make being an exotic dancer a piece of cake.

Danielle’s expression as she watched him at his first practice had let him know exactly what she thought of him - he was an absolute trainwreck. But Keith didn’t so much as have a stubborn streak as the entire basis of his personality could be classified as stubborn. If he wanted to do something, he’d make it happen, no matter what it took.

So he practiced until his feet bled and his body was more bruise than skin. While his natural ability had been sorely lacking, he made up for it with his work ethic.

Now he took in just as much in tips as everyone else, and even was something of a crowd favorite on certain nights. He was pretty sure his former fellow students got a kick out of seeing him in metallic spandex on stage after being the ‘guy to beat’ in simulator scores. He wasn’t the one trying to hide a boner while fumbling singles into his waistband with sweaty hands, though, so he didn’t really give a shit.

Not to mention no one had managed to beat his simulator scores, still.

“You’ve been kind of jumpy lately,” Danielle commented, jarring Keith back to the present as she offered him a bottle of water. “Usually nothing breaks your concentration when you’re practicing something new.”

Keith twisted the cap off the bottle, downing half its contents before he answered. “Just some stuff on my mind. I have this weird feeling that something big is supposed to happen tomorrow night. Like some cosmic event.”

Danielle raised an eyebrow. “A feeling? Like… astrology-and-witchcraft-feeling or I-went-to-space-school-and-I-know-things feeling?”

Keith wrinkled his nose. “Somewhere between those two, I think. Just don’t be surprised if I’m not here tomorrow night. I may have been abducted by aliens, or something.”

That made Danielle laugh. “Honey, if it’s aliens, they’ll just be taking you home.”

A corner of Keith’s mouth quirked up into a smile. Shiro had told him something along those same lines, once. He’d been a little bit drunk at the time, embarrassing Keith with his declaration that if anyone was going to reach the stars, it was him.

_“I think you’re from those stars,” he stage-whispered. “No way someone like you could be totally human.”_

He refused to explain what he meant by ‘someone like him,’ but Keith knew Shiro well enough to gauge that he didn’t mean it as an insult the way some other people would have if they’d implied he was an alien.

Whatever the feeling was, Keith’s gut told him that his life was about to drastically change yet again. There was some kind of arrival on the horizon, and he was prepared for anything.

At least, he thought he was.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue isn't really part of the year in the desert but it was too fun not to include. This event was such a delightful experience, now that I'm not frantically creating content I can't wait to go through and peruse what everyone else created!

Lance and Hunk groaned in an almost harmonized chorus, dropping to the floor as the Altean gladiator deactivated.

“Can we dictate a specific rest day?” Lance complained as he rubbed his most recent abrasion. “I just want one day a week where I’m not getting my ass handed to me by a robot.”

Keith stretched his arms over his head, mentally cataloging all his injuries. A lot of bruises, for sure, but it wasn’t that bad. At least his feet didn’t hurt from heels on top of everything. He started in with a set of cool-down lunges.

“Keith!” Lance said accusingly. “Are you even human? You never seem to mind getting knocked around.”

“Maybe he’s just a masochist,” Pidge suggested with a wicked smirk.

“Pidge,” Shiro chided, his cheeks pink.

Keith shrugged. “I’m just used to it, I guess. Between training at the Garrison and working at Supernova-“

“Whoa, what?” Lance interrupted. “You… what?”

Oh. Right. That wasn’t common knowledge. Keith shut his mouth with an audible snap.

“Keith, when you say you worked at-“ Shiro began.

“Yeah,” Keith answered, cutting him off.

He wasn’t necessarily ashamed of it, but the tone of Shiro’s voice made him feel too embarrassed to let him finish the question.

“It paid well,” he said defensively, feeling all eyes on him. “And had flexible hours. There’s not a lot of job opportunities in a tiny desert town.”

“Hey Lance, remember the time we sneaked into Supernova with fake IDs?” Hunk said, exchanging mischievous glances with Pidge. “And you sa-“

Lance slapped one hand over Hunk’s mouth.

“Nope. Nuh-uh. I sure don’t remember anything about that. It didn’t even happen, actually.”

“So much for being able to ‘recognize that mullet anywhere,’” Pidge offered.

Lance flipped her off with both hands.

“I usually had my hair up,” Keith said, not entirely following what was being implied.

“Keith…” Shiro said, lightly touching Keith’s arm.

“What?” Keith asked, brows furrowing. “It didn’t bother me, it was actually pretty fun. The other dancers were the closest thing I’ve had to friends, we all looked out for each other. Don’t make it weird.”

“You should show us a dance sometime,” Pidge said.

“No, absolutely not,” Shiro said before Keith could even answer. “Uh, I mean-“

“Maybe once we aren’t constantly training,” Keith said, glancing sidelong at Shiro. “It’s pretty physically demanding.”

Shiro looked away, discomfort written all over his face.

When they finished up on the training deck, Keith confronted Shiro alone in the hall.

“You know,” he said casually. “If you wanted a private dance, you could have just said so.”

Shiro opened his mouth and closed it again without any sound coming out.

Keith grinned at him and continued down the hall ahead of him, exaggerating a sway in his step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> U kno I was actually high-key on board for a bisexual Lance who secretly found Keith attractive because COME ON he's beautiful and ridiculously talented in a lot of the ways Lance aspires to but that HC is Cursed now ah well


End file.
